


Extraordinary

by Scribbling_Scribe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A little bit of Angst because John takes way too much responsiblity on himself, And at least one case of a Strider Mating Dance, And so do Dave and Rose and Jade, But there will be plenty of fluff to make up for it, Dom/sub Undertones, Especially of the DS variety, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, Look forward to it, M/M, Mentions of an Alpha Poly relationship, Multi, Polyamory, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribbling_Scribe/pseuds/Scribbling_Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard, knowing that your friends are destined for a greatness that you'll never be able to reach.  And sometimes, it's harder, knowing that despite what your friend thinks, you'll never be whole without him by your side.  And sometimes, love is really all you need to turn a situation truly extraordinary.</p><p>That is, if a certain stubborn Egbert will just give in to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross post here on Tumblr: http://indulgingfiction.tumblr.com/post/47845989296/extraordinary-chapter-1

It was the twentieth of April, and a very remarkable boy found himself in a remarkably ordinary room, laying on a bed that felt far too small for all the things that he’d seen, staring at a pristine white ceiling. The room was dark, only barely illuminated by the glow of the moon falling through his open window, but even in complete darkness, he could tell anyone who cared to ask where exactly everything in his room was. He could tell which posters were positioned where, could say every slur he’d once written over them in his troubled sleeps. He could tell where the chest where he kept items that, once upon a time, had seemed almost a little bit magical, tools of a trade he’d once dreamed of delving in. He could tell where his computer lay on it’s desk, the same one he’d spent so much time at, talking to people miles and miles away, some even galaxies away, whom he’d considered as his family, never knowing just how close to home that statement truly was.

Yes, he could tell you everything there was to tell about the room that he no longer felt he belonged in, but owned him so completely. And that, right there, was the problem, as far as John Egbert was concerned.

He’d played a game when he was thirteen, a game that ate up three years of his and his friends’ lives, their own actual lives, and their universe as they new it. They suffered their way through victory, walking a shaky line the entire way, even as they knew that in the end they were nothing but pawns in an ancient battle, and that the ending was already written down, just waiting for them to turn the page. During the week after things went back to “normal”, or, as normal as it was ever going to be, sometimes that thought was comforting, was peaceful, because things would be what they would be, and it was better to just go with the flow then try and fight the inevitable. On nights like this particular one, though, when things were quiet, and all he could hear was the faint sound of the wind blowing outside his room, inside his head, it was nothing but that final kick to an already downed opponent. Why should he ever bother trying at anything? What was the point if he was just playing into someone else’s bullshit design?

He knew that wasn’t any way to think. Knew that wasn’t any way to try and move on. Knew that dwelling and stewing over the past wasn’t any good for him, or his friends.

Oh yes, his friends, who had blown up his computer and his phone once they woke up. Rose, and Jade, and Dave, all making sure he was okay, that it had really happened, that they weren’t just going crazy. And isn’t it amazing, John, because look who’s at home with us? Look, we have our young guardians, isn’t that swell. It’s kinda like having Bro/Mom/Grandpa all over again.

No, they never said that, and he knew that they didn’t really think like that, but when he walked out of his room, when he ran into Jane, and saw the same disappointment he felt reflected in her eyes when neither of them were a tall man, filled with humor and honor and more fatherly love then John had ever known what to do with, then he could have ever truly appreciated...

He was bitter, and it wasn’t fair to Jane, who really was a nice girl. She tried, she really had, to make them both comfortable in a home that was so familiar and foreign at the same time, filled with mementos and memories of a father that no longer existed for either of them. It wasn’t fair to his friends, who certainly would never have wished it on him, who offered heartfelt condolences. His friends who checked up on him everyday. To Jade who would ask him how he was feeling, and then tell him about all of the kind of ridiculous things Jake would get into, and how she kept having to yell at him for breaking all the vases in the house. To Rose, who told him that if he ever needed someone to talk to, she’d be there anytime he was ready, but never pressured him into anything, even though he could tell that she really wanted to, that she wanted to crack his feelings open and delve right into the heart of whatever problem she knew he was facing. Wasn’t fair to Dave, who rambled on about the same old shit that he used to ramble on about, because he knew that was what John needed, that sense of familiarity, and even managed to do so without it feeling like he was tiptoeing on eggshells for him, even though that was exactly what he was doing.

Not a single damn bit of it was fair at all to his friends, to his family, and he knew it. He knew it as well as he knew that there was no way he could stop himself from feeling the way he was, from eventually acting out on those feelings, from eventually blowing up and hurting the only people that really mattered to him. Knew it as well as he knew that they’d figure that out at some point, and they’d stick by him anyway, through whatever abuse he might throw their way in the heat of the moment. That he would draw them all together, and drag them right down, because they were too good to him, and they’d never let him go.

And so it was, on that night, just a week after his sixteenth birthday, John decided that he was just going to have to do it for them, because he refused to sit idly by while he destroyed whatever chance of moving past The Game and becoming the great and successful people he knew they weren’t meant to be. The kind of person he’d never be able to become.

It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision, though it wasn’t as well thought out as it probably should have been, either. He moved silently, in the dead of the night, slipping a few things into the sylladex he inherited from his father; his copy of Colonel Sassacre’s, a pipe and a bit of tobacco that nobody in the house was going to be using anymore, and one of his father’s hats, and topped it all off with the birthday gifts he’d received from his best friends three years ago.

He probably should have left then, without so much as pressing his luck at getting caught, but instead he found his way into the kitchen, his father’s, and now Jane’s, domain. A place where he’d never just sat and watched his father bake often enough, where more often then not he’d start to aggrieve when he should have just appreciated what he was doing, the fact that he even got to spend any time with him in the first place, just... having him there.

He slipped into the kitchen, and started pulling out bowels, pans, and a recipe book which at first he thought must’ve been Nanna’s, but had his name. Good Old John Crocker, but was, thankfully, filled with simple, easy to follow instructions for baking goods, and not a single Betty Crocker ingredient amongst them.

It took him longer then he’d thought, this baking, and by the time he’ finished icing the rather puny looking thing, the sun was starting to come up, the sharp songs of the birds telling him that he needed to get a move on. So he grabbed a napkin, and wrote down a quick note to Jane, telling her that he was going out, and to take care of the house while he was gone, placing it next to the only cake he’d ever made, and probably the only one he ever would, and then left, putting on the white fedora, and walking away from the sun, feeling tired, so very tired, but willing to follow where ever the wind would take him.

\---

When Jane woke up a few hours later, she was not surprised to find that John isn’t around, since he’d been sticking to his room, or going out for walks for the week that they’d been home. He was so quiet, and she wished that he would talk to her a little bit more, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t understand why he was doing it, why he was that way. He’d come out of his funk on his own, though, she was sure. After all, he was a Crocker- er, Egbert, and they always came back from a fall with a laugh. It was just in their blood. Sometimes it just took a little longer to get up then others.

The cake was a surprise, however, and she thought even showed a lot of promise, a hint of the good baking skills that she was also sure was inherited. What was also a surprise was that, by the time noon time rolled around, and then well past, John still hadn’t returned from whatever walk he’d gone on for lunch. He didn’t seem to have much of an appetite, but he always made it home, anyhow, just before she started to worry.

‘ _Maybe he’s just caught the bus into the city,_ ’, she thought to herself, sitting down gingerly on the couch, steadfastly not looking towards the kitchen, where his note still lay. ‘ _He’s just going out for a bite to eat. No point in getting worried over nothing. He’s a big boy, John is, and more then capable of taking care of himself._ ’

She’d just managed to convince herself to relax a little, when her phone began to chime in her pocket, that old familiar sound of a chum pestering her.

timaeusTestified [TT]  
began bothering gutsyGumshoe [GG]  
at 2:47

TT: Jane, would you do me a huge favor and get Egbert to log on line?  
TT: Bro is starting to become a little snippy.  
TT: It’d be really adorable the fact that he’s worrying so much about the guy, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m the only one readily available to bitch at, and the fact that he’s reminding me of a very dark, very clingy time in my own life.  
TT: I feel like I should go and apologize to Jake if I was acting like even a fraction of what Dave is trying to pretend he doesn’t feel.  
GG: No, you really don’t need to apologize to Jake. We’ve all put that behind us, so it would be best if we just never bring it up ever again.  
GG: But as far as talking to John goes, I would love to, but he’s not home at the moment.  
TT: He’s not home.  
GG: No. He left a note, and was gone before I rolled out of bed this morning.  
TT: And he still hasn’t come back?  
Jane frowned, the worry that she’d forced to the back of her mind starting to work it’s way to the forefront. Surely John wouldn’t have done something stupid, would he? Nothing that could get him hurt. He was way too smart for that. You don’t just go through a life threatening game, only to do something like get run over, or run away without telling anyone only to get kidnapped and/or murdered, especially when there were people who loved him, and depended on him. He couldn’t have. He left her a note, and baked a cake. You don’t just leave after baking a cake.

Still, she got up from the couch, and made her way into her father’s study, opening the drawers, finding the hidden compartment where there was a goodly amount of cash kept. It wasn’t the only place where it was kept in the house, hidden behind a few portraits and Dad’s old sock drawer, but she’d already seen John come into the study to grab a tiny bit of cash, for grocery shopping, mostly.

She pulled out the bills, counting them and checking twice, but no. It was still the same amount as it’d been the day before.

GG: There isn’t any money missing. But I’ll go and check his room, just in case.

She didn’t even bother to hide the money again before she was making her way upstairs, and straight towards John’s room, which she’d been staying away from, for the most part, only having entered it a time or two with her ecto-father/son’s express permission. But she’d been in there enough to know where the important things were. Or, where they should have been.

The bunny, John’s bunny, the original one that he’d gotten as a birthday gift, wasn’t in its usual place.

‘ _No, that doesn’t really mean much. He’s just taking it with him, as... a security blanket?_ ’

But even as she told herself that, as she made his way to the chest in the corner of his room, decorated in stars and swirls that gave more of an insight to who he used to be just three years ago then all of his posters ever could, she knew, she just knew, that she was just feeding herself lies.

GG: He took Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery. The unabridged version.  
There was a split second before Dirk responded, considering whether anyone would carry around a book that was more then capable of killing medium sized domesticated animals when dropped from a small height for just a short stroll.

TT: Fuck.  
TT: This isn’t going to be fun to explain.  
TT: Jane, are you going to be okay up there?  
She wasn’t sure she was going to be. John had seemed like a strong guy, who had everything together, even if he was a little bit quiet. He’d been able to let go a little bit, and laugh and joked and convinced her to join along whenever he wasn’t in his room, even when she thought she couldn’t.

So if he couldn’t handle what they’d all gone through, what chance did anyone else have?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking forever to update, I'm definitely going to work very hard to update far sooner and more regularly. Don't worry, my friends, I'm not going to let this die!

“Twenty One, huh? Consider this one on the house then, pal.”

John glanced up at the bartender, a cheerful looking guy with bright red hair and a beard, passing a cold, frothy glass of liquid gold his way. And a quick sniff showed that it wasn’t even the cheap stuff, which was a little bit surprising and a whole lot appreciated. Still, despite the sentiment, he couldn’t help but shake his head, shifting a bit on the barstool so that he could reach behind and grab his wallet.

“I appreciate it, man, but one beer is all I’m gonna get today. Might as well pay for it, heh.” He managed a small smile as he pulled out a ten dollar bill, sliding it over the bar, and waving his hand dismissively when it looked like the bartender was going to try and give him some change.

The man behind the bar opened his mouth, and was probably going to ask him his story. John knew that’s what he would’ve done, in that position, seeing a young man come in, just turned twenty one, all by himself, with no friends, and only asking for a single beer. It was curious, an oddity, and since it was only about two in the afternoon, the pub he’d found himself in wasn’t exactly busy. Everyone had time for a story.

John just didn’t have the patience, or the heart. He just wanted to make a silent toast to the fallen. There were probably other ways, better ways, less cliche ways of doing that, but he couldn’t think of any off the top of his head, and, well, sometimes cliches were cliches for a reason.

Either way, rather luckily, John found that he didn’t have to answer any unspoken questions, because before they could be brought out into the open air, where he could no longer play ignorant and ignore them, a nice young lady on the other side of the bar asked if the tv could be turned up a little. Some entertainment show, John remembered from when he first sat down and glanced up at the small television mounted in a the far corner. Years and years and years ago, that would have been something that would’ve been slightly interesting to him, something to at least make fun of, to laugh about with his friends, with whatever crazy antics whichever infamous celebrity was getting up to.

Now, it just seemed childish, unnecessary, and he ran the risk of hearing a far too familiar voice.

“Ain’t no thing.”

John sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat at the drawled mumble, which was much more pronounced then the last time he’d heard it, on some cable program or another. Dave must’ve finally put his pride to the side a little, and let that natural southern accent charm the masses, instead of trying to stifle it.

Good. Good for Dave. Now if only John could convince himself to not be a terrible person and not be upset over the fact that he’d only been able to hear his natural accent twice, in person.

“Mister Strider, you’ve been quite popular recently! Screenwriters and actors falling left and right over themselves to get to work with you. Tell me, what do you think is key to your sudden success?”

Stupid question. It was obvious. Dave had only produced one movie, so far, but it had been successful beyond imagining, which was probably a surprise to everyone but John. Two years prior, Rose had written her first published novel, _The Ancestors_ , which had been hailed internationally as the best fantasy fiction to have come out in decades, a bittersweet romance, and a bold analysis of human relationships, human struggles, the struggle between a kind, equal utopia, and the violent, fundamentally unequal reality of the world, and an insightful thought of how a truly peaceful life, civilization will never be able to be reached, because it takes only one small act of violence to upset the entire balance. It had a few critiques, of course, including one about how unoriginal the name “Alternia” was, how cliched the character tropes, how just plain simple the story was. Of course, the story wasn’t nearly as simple, if you heard the whole thing. Sometimes, he wondered if Rose was going to tell the whole story.

Anyway, it had become a number one bestseller practically over night, and almost immediately, there were rumors about a movie being made. Names like Michal Bay and James Cameron were thrown around, but again, John knew better.

And sure enough, about a year after it’s initial release, one Dave Strider, a self made man who played the stock market like it was a child’s game, practically self produced the movie, all with no named actors, no named musicians, no named everything, taking the world by surprise, again. The biggest, best selling independent movie to ever have been released.

That, all by itself, would’ve made Rose and Dave famous. Add to the fact that they were young, good looking, and well spoken, well. Of course they were going to be plastered on every other magazine. Add to the fact that they were friends not only with each other, but with Jade, who was making quite a name for herself in the scientific community, it was practically enough to give the media and paparazzi undying boners.

It was, in short, just the kind of lives that John had expected them to live. And it was because, to answer the interviewer, that was the kind of life they were made for.

“’S’cause there’s somethin’ that I need to do,” Dave answered, and John didn’t need to be watching to know that he shrugged, that easy half shrug, so much like how he only grinned with a single quirk of one side of his lips, a barely there move that expressed so much.

“So there’s a goal in mind. Care to share?”

Good God, that interviewer was ridiculous. How did Dave put up with him? Care to share? That was something you said to a child, a fanciful rhyme to make them more inclined to tell you what you wanted to hear, not to an adult man. An adult man who helped save the whole universe.

Dave hesitated for a moment, and when he answered, it was quiet, almost subdued, and more then enough to set John on edge.

"I need to find my best friend." He finished with a shrug. One of those little half shrugs. John didn't actually need to be watching the screen to know that he did, just like he'd always could tell when Dave grinned, that little lopsided smirk, barely there, a small gesture that had always managed to express so much more then one of John's own loud, open expressions.

He felt his eye twitch, and he chugged down three quick, large swallows of his beer, not tasting it at all, before he pushed his glass a few inches away from him across the bar, and got up to leave, as fast as he could without actually running. He didn't want the attention. Not when he felt so raw, not when he was sure that the smallest breeze was going to tear him apart. He'd gone beyond crying in public. Hell, until that moment, he'd thought he'd gotten past crying, period.

So much for that thought.

It wasn't right, though. Even as he stalked out of the pub, he was shaking his head, blind of any direction he was going but away. Dave wasn't supposed to miss him. Not after five years. Not enough to say so, on television, to millions of strangers. That wasn't right, Dave shouldn't have to expose himself like that, even if he was the most sentimental of the group.

And if that's how Dave still felt, then... what about Rose and Jade?

No, no. They were smart, logical, they understood that somethings just need to be left behind and forgotten. They couldn't still be hurting over him leaving. Dammit, he left so he _wouldn't_ hurt any of them.

He wouldn't be able to stand himself if, even after taking himself out of the picture, he still managed to drag them down in any way.

He wasn't sure how far he'd gotten, or how long it had taken him, but what had felt like only moments, he heard his name called out from somewhere behind him. He didn't respond, though, other then a stiffening of his shoulders, his hand coming up reflexively to pull down the brim of his Father’s fedora, covering his face in it’s shadow. John was a common name, after all. Felt like the most common name, half the time, since he couldn't ever seem to go anywhere without hearing it. It was just a coincidence, hearing it after the Dave incident in the pub.

Just a coincidence.

"John! John Egbert!"

_Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

She could hardly believe it. Even right before her eyes, standing there in the flesh, she could hardly believe that it was really the infamous John.

Of course, the fedora was what first caught her attention, not nearly as old and tattered and dirty as the one that Jane had treasured so much, but she'd recognize the very manly, dadly headgear anywhere. Or, at least, she hoped she did. And her gut instinct had been right, because as soon as the figure wearing said headgear had turned around, she saw a more masculine version of Jane's face. A more weathered, gaunt version, with wide blue eyes, bluer then any other eyes she'd ever seen. Impossibly blue, the kind that only belonged to one man.

Impossibly blue eyes that looked panicked and actually hurt when he looked at her, his expression growing taunt, body tense, like he was preparing himself for some kind of turbulence.

Any other situation, and she'd have her cell out already, calling up Rose or Dave, and Jane, maybe even Dirk, but.... She just never could turn her back to somebody who needed her, and John, for all that he'd brought whatever it was he was going through onto himself, needed help.

"Long time no see, John," she called as she walked forward, not too fast, because she didn't want to scare him off, but not too slow, either. The last thing that she needed was to make him feel like she thought he was like some kind of scared animal, and offend him.

John recognized what she was doing, right off the bat, though he did give her credit for the thoughtfulness. Rose would do that, sometimes, when one of them was being particularly stubborn over something, though when she did it, it was rather painfully obvious. Roxy seemed more casual, but it was still a very Lalonde move.

And maybe that was why it allowed him to relax, to smile a little sheepishly at her.

"It's been a bit, yeah." Roxy noticed his voice was quiet, and while she hadn't heard him talk a lot, it didn't really seem like the voice that had once laughed so happily when he was reunited with his friends, that had screamed with so much rage during the final battle. It was subdued, adult, and nothing like the voice of a boy that had once controlled the winds. "You're looking pretty good, though. Life's been treating you kindly?"

She smiled back, a soft, quick movement of her lips, and nodded slowly, pushing some of her blond hair behind her ear. "It's been pretty good. But I don't suppose this is actually the place to sit and get reacquainted, huh? Taking up space in the middle of a sidewalk. Why don't we go and get a cup of coffee, and chat?"

He hesitated, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head as his hand came up again, fingering the rim of his hat in what she could tell was an unconscious gesture or uncertainty, the same some people twirled their hair, or twiddled their thumbs, before he pulled himself to his full height- which still ended up being a few inches shorter then herself, though still a little bit taller then Jane, at least. The poor dears, it was like the Harley-Englishes had taken all the tall genes. She supposed she should go and thank Dirk for not being an ectobiological jerk and not being too much terribly taller then herself, comparatively.

"Sure. Yeah. Coffee is good. My treat."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a question, and though she desperately wanted to pay, having no idea just how much money he might have on him- though all things considered, he didn't really look all that worse for wear.. And besides that, she was pretty sure that he’d just go ahead and walk away if she didn't let him- she knew that set look in his eyes all too well, though she was used to seeing it with a much lighter shade.

"Yeah, alright buster. But I get to choose where, yeah?" She didn't allow him to answer, just gently placed her hands on his shoulders, turning him around- he was wearing a heavy coat, and she was feeling a little concerned, so maybe she was just being a worrywart, but she'd swear that his arms felt far too thin underneath the thick fabric-, lacing one arm with his, and began to walk casually down down the street with him, letting herself talk about nothing in particular.

John didn't mind, though, would even nod and hem and haw at the correct times, though he didn't really have anything to contribute about cat-food, or why it was ridiculous that a person couldn't just go and buy some chemical or another at WalMart, when you could get basically the same kind of result from a bag of fertilizer, if somebody wants to blow something up, they're going to do it, and Roxy shouldn't be "punished" because some people simply don't know how to safely play with dangerous chemicals. Honestly, he had no idea what she was talking about half the time, but it was nice. A little nostalgic, even.

"And so then I said- oh, that's sweet, thanks Hon," she paused her story as John opened the door to the small little coffee shop that Roxy had been leading them to, giving him a large smile and patting his hand, a gesture that even a few years ago would have had him rolling his eyes, or even worse, feel irritated that he had to be thanked for doing something that was only common courtesy, like it was something special, or like they were surprised that he'd think to do it. But right then, all he could feel was a little pleased, he'd managed a job well done, one of the small victories that added up, made it easier to keep going, something that, if his father had been there, would have earned him that proud smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle, brought out his father's dimples.

He blinked, when he realized that he'd spaced out for a bit, and in that time not only did they end up in front of the counter, but Roxy was already ordering herself a drink.

“Oh, uh, a small coffee for me, plain please.” John said when the barrista turned to him.

Roxy cocked her head curiously, but managed to not say anything until they’d gotten their drinks, and went to go sit down at one of the small tables in the back, quiet and out of the way, even giving them time to sit down, and John to remove his hat, placing it on the table, another bit of manners he couldn’t consciously recall ever having picked up. “Huh. I always pictured you’d be an ounce of coffee with your milk and sugar kind of guy.”

John chuckled a little at that, but didn’t say anything. Mostly because she was right, he really did hate plain black coffee, but he hadn’t felt like asking for anything more complicated while he was up there. He took a small sip from his styrofoam cup, and gave him a pat on the back that he’d managed not to wince at the strong, bitter flavor.

“So, time to catch up, huh? I’ll go first, I suppose. Life’s pretty sweet right now. Moved in with my Bros and Janey, all together now. Probably something that we should’ve done in the very beginning, but now we can really appreciate that we have each other, you know? It’s fun, though, living with friends like that. Between Jake and Dirk, there’s never really a dull moment, and even Jane’s cut loose a lot! Although...” She paused, narrowing her eyes on John for a moment, and he realized that he’d face an ocean of black coffee before he’d ever voluntarily deal with a Lalonde stink-eye again, “you gave her quite a bit of a fright, young Mister Egbert.”

He winced, legs shifting and right hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, shaggy hairs that had gone too long without a trim tickling the back of his hand, and blushed. An honest to god blush, that pinkened his ears, and turned his cheeks ruddy.

“Of course, I did. Sneaking out in practically the middle of the night like that... Unbelievably shitty of me. God, I really wasn’t thinking all that straight; could’ve handled that much better then I did. I really am sorry, though. Jane deserved better then that...”

Roxy relented, eyes and face and body softening, just a little, though. She wasn’t happy with John, honestly, and what he did. Hurting Jane was one thing- a rather _big_ thing, in fact-, but then he also hurt so many other people in the process. Dirk and Jake had told her about how his sudden disappearance had devastated their family members, Dave locking himself in his room for months, and Jade becoming hyper aggressive to keep from becoming depressed herself. And Rose, oh Rose spent so long, trying to figure out what warning signs she’d missed, wondering why she hadn’t been able to see what was going to happen, constantly drowning in what ifs.

But John didn’t look at all happy, either. He hadn’t just left for shits and giggles. Which only left one question.

“Why’d you do it, then?”

He let out a sigh, but didn’t hesitate as he reached into his coat, pulled out his WalletModus, and took out three items: a Time magazine, dated back a few years, with Jade on the cover, hair up in a bun, glasses pushed to the top of her head, and her eyes looking as green as the uranium she was known for working with, and a curious wrinkle right next to her picture, like somebody had often rubbed back and forth at the cover, like a worry stone; a first edition copy of _The Ancestors _, well taken care of but obviously well loved, some of the yellow pages a little dogeared, the spine cracked and bent from countlessly opening to book to various pages; and a copy of the movie based off of Rose’s book, wrinkled in the same curious little way the magazine had been, the plastic above the name of the producer and directer.__

__“You’ve seen all of these, I’m sure,” he said quietly, eyes soft and fingers infinitely gentle as he moved the three items on the small table, fanning them out before Roxy. “Here’s Jade, making leaps and bounds in the world of science, with rumors of a well deserved Nobel prize coming her way. Rose is now a multi-million dollar authoress, who I’m pretty sure could write a ten paged novella about taking a crap, and it’d still end up a number one best seller. And Dave not only can basically run Wallstreet any time he’d like, but he’s also the biggest up and coming director in Hollywood. Hell, he doesn’t even need Hollywood, he could make independent movies all the time, and they’d do just as well as Rose’s books.”_ _

__He paused for a breath of air, and glanced up to Roxy, blue eyes meeting pink, watching the expressions roll over her face. “It’s just like how it was in your universe, right? They were all successful, and relatively happy, other then having to fight against the BatterBitch. And do you know what else is the same as there?”_ _

__She shook her head, slowly, and John smiled. A small, slightly self depreciating smile. “I’m not around to fuck it up for them.”_ _

__“That’s not-” She tried to argue, eyes wide, barely able to believe that he actually believed that, but he just gave her a dry look, before pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose._ _

__“True? Maybe that wasn’t strictly the all that was going on in the Alpha Session,” he relented a little, though it was rather clear by the tone of his voice that he didn’t believe that for even a second, “but I know it is, here. They never would’ve been able to succeed and live the lives they were meant to, if I’d stuck around. I can’t-”_ _

__He closed his eyes, and slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his chair, for once looking as tired physically as he felt emotionally._ _

__“There’s something not right with me, Roxy. I don’t know if it’s just broken or sprained, or bent, but whatever it is, it’s keeping me stuck. I can’t just... Hell, I don’t think that I was ever going to be able to really do anything with my life, nothing impressive, even if The Game had never happened. Now, I’m nothing but an anchor.”_ _

__He opened his eyes, and Roxy felt her breath catch, because there, that hard set, turning his eyes almost icy, that was the kind of passion she’d remembered seeing from him, all those years before._ _

__“I miss them. I really, really do. But I’m so _proud_ of what they’ve manage to accomplish, in just five fucking, unbelievable years. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to end up weighing any of them down.”_ _

__They were silent, for a moment or two, just looking at each other, before Roxy sighed, reaching across the table to take a hold of his hand, squeezing it softly._ _

__“You know I’m going to call Rosey up, don’t you?”_ _

__John raised a brow, and grinned sardonically. “You’re out here, in the middle of practically nowhere, on your best friend’s birthday,” he answered, chuckling a little. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not actually stupid. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that you haven’t texted her our location already.”_ _

__She rolled her eyes, but let go of John’s hand, allowing him to almost reverently put away the items he’d shown her, and she could feel her already aching heart begin to break. He hadn’t done the right thing, no, but she knew now, at least, that it wasn’t out of spite._ _

__“I thought about it,” she admitted, thinking about the tweet she’d saw a couple of days ago, completely on accident, about a street performer, who could juggle and play piano, did little magic tricks for the kids, and had the most amazing blue eyes anyone had ever seen. “But I had to make sure it was you, first.” She wasn’t going to hurt everyone else with a false alarm._ _

__John hummed, nodding, and started to stand up, sensing that their conversation was drawing to a close. “I really can’t say that I blame you. I know, if I were in your position, that I would’ve already called up the cavalry. At this point, though, by the time you call them up, I’ll already have a head start.” Which, he hoped, would be enough to be able to slip under the radar again._ _

__She stood up with him, gracefully taking his arm when he offered it, and walked out of the shop together, and even further, down the road, until they came to an intersection._ _

__Rosy tugged at his coat, until he was facing her, and pulled him into a hug, nodding her head until she could press a soft kiss to his cheek, taking in how it was clean shaven against her lips, how he smelled clean, how other then how long his hair had gotten, how his clothes were starting to get on the shabby side, how he was far too skinny, a sight that just didn’t look right on any Egbert/Crocker, it did seem like he was actually taking care of himself, a comforting thought, especially if, by some strange twist of fate, and slipped out of their fingers again._ _

__“You be sure to eat more, you hear me, buddy?”_ _

__“Sure thing, Mom,” he snickered, before returning her hug with a quick, tight squeeze of his own, hoping she understood that he really did actually enjoy seeing her again, that he was thankful she just talked to him, instead of kidnapping him off of the streets or whatever sort of harebrained scheme Jake or Dirk would’ve gone through, if it’d been them._ _

__But he couldn’t stay, and Roxy reluctantly let him go, saying a quiet “Happy Birthday” towards his back as she watched him walk away, never looking back, the only sign that he might have heard her was him placing his hat back on top of his head. She watched him until he faded from view._ _

__And then she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, pressing a singular button as she brought it up to her ear._ _

__“Hey. I found him.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter, as promised! And even better then that??? Next chapter, we're bringing in the other Betas! Aw yeah, we're starting to work our way towards actual OT4 action!


	4. Chapter 4

Three days later, and John found himself laying back on a park bench on as gorgeous a day as one could possibly hope for, looking up at a cloudless, endlessly blue sky, and feeling...

Well, frustrated, mostly. He wasn't happy, despite the fact that he was sure he'd outsmarted his friends, having not even left the town that Roxy had found him in. That's what he would've expected, had he been looking for someone, that they would've tried to run as far away as fast away as possible. So he did the opposite, staying put, though he did lie low, keeping quiet and too himself, not doing anything to draw attention to himself. And his plan had worked, obviously.

But apparently, success didn't mean happiness, because he wasn't the least bit pleased with himself and the turn of events. He even felt a little... disappointed.

Which, of course, just pissed him off, because he didn't want to be found. Well, he did, but he knew that wasn't for the best. And he'd been trying _so hard_ to do what was best for all his friends, and he couldn't let his own emotional weakness bring an end to the first thing he'd managed to really do right in probably a decade.

He didn't have a _right_ to be disappointed that nobody had found him. He didn't have a _right_ to start to wish that he had handled things differently. He didn't have a _right_ to-

"Gotcha."

Before he could process what was happening, John found himself in the air, the on somebody else's shoulder, forcing the air out of his lungs as firm flesh bore into his stomach in a way that wasn't exactly painful, but definitely far too sudden for comfort.

He first move after that should've been to reach for his sylladex and grab out his hammer, and get back in control of the situation. If not that, then he should have kicked, screamed, punched, just made a damn fuss, so the other few people in the park would notice that something was up, something was wrong. But he noticed that they were moving far too fast, and his first instinct was to grab on to his hat. If he had enough time to think, he would have known that that should definitely not have been his priority, but it got a little hard to breath, even thinking about losing his father's hat, and he just... he couldn't.

But he didn't have a chance to think about that, because almost as soon as he was thrown over someone's shoulder, he was gone, and... dumped into the back seat of a car?

The sudden change in location was sobering enough that John finally did pull out his hammer, not really paying attention to the occupants in the vehicle, just focused on getting out of the car as fast as possible, fighting in such a closed environment would e dangerous, odds stacked against him, he had to get out in the open where he could actually move around, where he could fight effectively, where he had a chance.

He had leaned forward, and had his fingers just brushing the handle on the backseat car door, when a hand wrapped around his wrist.

A soft hand, small, with dainty fingers. Definitely not the hand of some weird kidnapper/serial killer.

He paused, taken aback, his grip slackening, and he turned his head just in time to see Rose Lalonde pulling his ball pein out of his hand.

"Oh."

She raised a brow, her expression showing what she would have verbalized the last time he saw her. _Oh indeed_.

He glances forward and there's Jade, sitting up in the passenger seat, looking... well, mostly pissed, a deep furrow between dark brows as she glowered at him. His own gaze dropped quickly, unable to keep looking at those bright green eyes, looking too dark with their pupils blown wide. 

So he looked into the rear view mirror, and saw Dave's face, not hidden as much as it used to be by the shades he'd gotten him what felt like a lifetime ago, but he'd finally grown into them. They still managed to be an effective shield, hiding those expressive red eyes, so all he had to keep schooled was really his mouth., which, if John was anyone else, he'd probably think was being kept in a very neutral straight line.

But John wasn't anyone else, and he noticed the tautness at the corner of his lips.

"Finally mastered that Pokerface, huh?" he lied, trying to lighten up the heavy tension in the car.

Jade wasn't impressed, but the corner of Dave's lip curled up for a moment, and he gave a soft nod of acknowledgment.

There was another loaded silence, the air feeling even thicker, and John couldn't really think of anything to say, but he had to, felt like he wasn't going to be able to breath properly if he didn't.

"...Really though, guys? Was this really necessary?"

"You should be thanking your lucky stars you're even conscious right now," Jade barked, and if she still had the dog ears from Bec, they would have been pinned back, he knew it. "I wanted to knock your stupid ass out, and drag you home. Would have, too, if Dave wasn't such a big fucking softy."

He turned towards Rose, head, shoulders, knees, until his whole body was facing her, hands clenched down on his lap to keep from reaching for her. "Rose." She'd always been the voice of reason, always the one who saw them through any plans they needed, always able to be the most mature among them when they needed someone to make the hard decisions. Surely she'd understand. She'd get that he had to go. "Please."

She held herself pretty well, all things considered, but John still caught the hint of a grimace on her face, hyper aware of any move she made, even the tiniest of facial twitches. He watched her take a deep breath, her shoulders rolling back like she was about to take on the world, and fixed him with that sympathetic, understanding look. The kind she always used when she was going to tell him something she knew he didn't want to hear.

"Normally, I'd take into consideration the fact that you clearly do not wish for our company." He barely suppressed a wince, and clenched his fists harder, until short nails were digging into his palms. Did they really think that? That he just didn't want to be around them anymore? "But," she paused for a moment, glancing him up and down, and John was suddenly very aware of the length of his hair peaking out from underneath his fedora, the little bit of stubble on his chin, the stain on his jeans and the tear at the cuff of his jacket, "given the circumstances, it would be in everyone's best interest if we keep an eye on you. And given you recent history, the best way to do that is to keep you as close as possible."

"...Given the circumstances? _Given the circumstances?_ " Were they trying to imply something? Okay, so he wasn't dressed in the newest fashions, and maybe more of his clothes then not happened to have stains and/or tears on them. He hadn't had a haircut in a while, either. He didn't have a surplus of cash. But for a guy who left his home at sixteen, walking and hitchhiking his way across pretty much the whole damn country, who'd tended to make enough money being paid under the table doing odd jobs, performing out on the streets, that he could sleep with a roof over his head, and even have a hot meal if he wanted one. Hell, he'd go ahead and say that he was actually doing pretty damn good for himself, /given the circumstances/! "I don't /need/ you guys to take care of me. I'm not some fucking stray that you pick up off the street and rehabilitate. I am _not_ a charity case!" His voice was low, rough, hissed out through clenched teeth, and he reached for the door handle, yanking hard, even though he wasn't even the least bit surprised to find that it was locked.

He heard a noise, something like a strangled, paniced whimper, and closed his eyes tightly when he realized that that noise came from him. God, he sounded like an animal he just finished saying that he wasn't. Stuck, trapped. With exactly the people he'd just been wishing he could be with. Heh. Fucking irony.

John made one more attempt, though, to get through to them, to the only one who'd always given him what he needed, every time he needed it. He pushed himself forward, reaching around the seat in front of him, grabbing onto the sleeve of Dave's shirt, tugging lightly on it, looking into the mirror where he knew the blond's eyes lay hidden. "Dave. _Dave_..."

The Texan didn't say anything, just shook his head, but John recognized the set of his mouth, lips held so tightly together they were nothing but a straight, unbending line. A resolute look that he'd seen too many times on Davesprite's face. A look that had never boded well for John.

That was that. Game over. All those years, all those sacrifices, all the good he'd managed to accomplish from it, all the progress Rose and Jade and Dave had made, gone.

He leaned back, pulling his hat down low, shadowing his eyes because he could feel them starting to water, and he wasn't going to damn well cry in front of his friends right then. His successful, famous friends, who managed to go out an make things of themselves, instead of festering in their own misery. John turned his head, looking resolutely out the window, not saying a single word, even as he showed his defeat by pulling on his seat belt, the click of it snapping into place loud in the otherwise silent car. Not saying a word as Dave started to back out of the parking space, then drive down the road. Not saying a word as he felt three sets of eyes look at him.

He'd gotten exactly what he wanted, and he still couldn't find it in himself to be happy. So all he could do was wait until his friends, the people who meant the absolute most to him in the world, realized that they hadn't gotten their John back, but something broken.

Something that, he was sure, could never be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time for more of John being an angsty drama llama, our first glimpse of sexy times ahead, and quite possibly the funniest joke in the world. And a little bit factual, too, if wiki answers isn't lying to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hey guys, Look! Look at this, oh my god, I seriously cried, and then I printed it out, and I'm gonna frame this sucker like you guys don't even know!
> 
> http://binart.tumblr.com/post/53501604543/my-favourite-kind-of-fics-are-fics-where-john

It didn't really take them all that long to reach their destination- a pleasant looking if otherwise nondescript Bed and Breakfast just outside of town- but it felt like the second longest ride of John's life, which was saying something, since the longest ride he'd ever managed to be on literally lasted years. John was hyper aware of every stretch of silence, could practically feel the seconds beating inside of his head, almost making him jump anytime someone broke it, each time Jade let out a frustrated sigh, every time Rose would shift slightly on the other side of him. Dave, thankfully, didn't make a sound, but John didn't have to be looking to feel red eyes staring at him, could feel it like an actual, physical touch against his skin.

It made him itch. Made him uncomfortable self conscious, more then he could ever remember being in his entire life. Made him want to curl up and hide, or let go, like he used to be able to. Let go completely of himself and melt away into the air.

He couldn't do that anymore, though. So he just rested his head against the coolness of the window, feeling too solid and too heavy and too singular, and let himself wallow in thoughts of just disappearing.

Thank god he didn't actually have that much time to wallow, despite how it felt, and unlike the trip getting to the building, getting up into the room he figured they'd be staying in for however long. A surprisingly small room, all things considered. A surprisingly small room with only two beds.

But that was a worry that he'd deal with, later. After he was done in the shower.

Not that he actually needed a shower. Well, okay, maybe he didn’t exactly smell like a rose, but that was understandable. He’d had a quick shower the night before, courtesy of the motel that _He’d_ been staying at, but the day had been a little bit hot and humid, and being kidnapped certainly didn’t help him suddenly become squeaky clean.

He blinked, pausing from where he’d been pulling his shirt off over his head, and staring unseeingly back at his own reflection in the tiny bathroom’s mirror that was already starting to fog up, the sound of the running water drowned out by a very sudden thought. He had actually been kidnapped, hadn’t he? His friends had come and ambushed him, taking him off of the streets, and were basically holding him captive, with no hope for ransom. His friends had kidnapped him, took him to a motel, then told him to go take a shower to “relax a little bit”, and so they could talk without him overhearing whatever plans they were coming up with about what to do with their Wayward Heir, probably so he couldn’t try to sabotage it, or try and sneak away.

He felt laughter bubbling up in his throat, and it did nothing to sooth any nerves. Not when he could practically feel it bubble and pop, out of control, the kind of laughter that he knew from experience would have him hunched over, grabbing a hold of himself, trying to keep himself together, to keep his own body from falling to pieces, until he could barely breath, and the laughter turned to tears, and he was left feeling sore and alone and _empty_.

So he fought it back, tooth and mental nail, yanking his shirt over his head, hissing out a curse when his glasses were thrown somewhere off in the corner, bundled it up, and tossed it to go and join the spectacles, snarling at the pale, fuzzy image of himself in the mirror. At least, until his eyes saw the only other real splash of color in the reflected room. His hand came up, almost like it had a mind of it’s own, and his thumb traced over the slightly rougher skin. A gear of Time, haloed by radiant Light, surrounded by Space. The artist that put it in his skin hadn’t understood, couldn’t understand, though John kind of wished that he did. Wished that there had been some kind of spark of recognition, for the symbols of the three that had helped to give him a life, to whom he owed his entire existence. But the tattooist didn’t ask, and John didn’t tell. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have, even if a question had been posed. It just... was. And besides, if he’d asked about the tattoo, then he no doubt would have asked about the scar, still ugly as sin after all those years, right in the middle of his chest, a reminder of a life he’d once had, a life all of his friends had had. A reminder of the life he’d lost them.

He dropped his hands to his pants, sighing as he went about chucking them off. He was making himself depressed, again. Not that he didn’t deserve it, he knew, but it would be easier to deal with his friends if his head was on straight. On their own, they were too smart, too perceptive, and they wouldn’t ‘allow’ him to continue ‘abusing’ himself in such a manner. He’d hate to image how they’d behave with a mob sort of mentality backing them.

 _Besides,_ he thought as he slipped behind the shower curtain, wincing as the almost scalding water hit him, hoping he’d get used to the temperature soon, _they already have me where they want me, and there’s nothing I can do about it, at the moment. Might as look at the bright side of things._

Of course, he could only really see one slight light in the darkness that was the situation, and that was actually getting to see his friends, his family again, and being able to see personally how they’d grown.

Jade, he’d noted as they’d gotten out of the car, was still the tallest of them. Beautiful and slender as a model. Or, more fittingly, giving her attitude, as long and dangerous as one of her favored rifles. It used to be one of his favorite jokes, about how she towered “heads and tails” above the rest of them, back when he were still sore that Rose had managed to actually gain at least three inches more then him, making John, officially, the runt of the whole litter. Back when he’d actually thought, maybe, if he tried hard enough, pushed himself as hard as he could, he could maybe manage to measure up to the rest of them, and not just height wise.

Nowadays, he didn’t mind being short so much. Or more, it’s not worth the effort to get upset about it. Came in handy, a few times, even, on the rare occasion that he happened to get into a scrape. He was quicker then he looked, he was small, and he was damned hard to catch.

Jade was always good at catching him, though. Maybe it was some special skills that came with being combined with a dog. Maybe it was being raised by a passionate hunter.

If he was being honest with himself, though, it probably had a lot more to do of the fact that, when he were around for her to catch you, she was the only female basically of his species on a boat that he was stuck on for three years. The fact that her face looked an awful lot like his didn’t seem to matter a tiny bit to his dick, at the time. Nor the fact that she’d been dating a version of his best friend.

Actually, a whole lot of things didn’t matter to John’s dick back then. Both Jade _and_ Davesprite had been more then fair game, according to it, when it was time to get off. Sometimes both, even. At the same time.

It seemed like that was basically all he ever actually did on the ship, looking back. Sleep and jerk off to thoughts of his friends. Thinking about spending a little quality time with Jade that would end up with her pinning him to the ground, humping him into submission. Thinking about actually following through on a few different plans to get Davesprite to actually shut the fuck up for a little bit, things that involved him maybe actually having some form of genitalia, things that involved them both laying satiated on the floor, afterwards, where the sprite would tell him that they were, actually, still friends, no matter what it might seem like, sometimes.

And it didn’t stop there, oh no. Sometimes, he entertained thoughts of some of the other trolls, the few that he’d met, at least. Which was basically the fishy one. The one that was a young batter witch. He hadn’t met Vriska soon enough to be able to actually have a proper idea to masturbate to her, but he let his imagination run wild. Once. Which ended up with him getting fucked by some kind of Drider like creature.

Which was why he tended to stay with what he knew. And what he knew was Jade, Rose, and two versions of Dave.

When he was feeling particularly bad about thinking about Jade, he usually turned to Rose. He remembered Dave used to go off about how she was always trying to get in his grill, which always used to get John laughing, because, well, Rose had always used to be a bit of a flirt, in her own way. Sometimes more brazen then others. Dave had been like that, too, except the difference was, John was pretty sure he barely even realized what he was doing, half the time. Like it was something he’d grown up hearing so much, he just basically parroted without really understanding half of what he was saying. Rose, though... Rose knew what she was talking about, even if, in the end, it was just her joking around.

There had been times that John liked to pretend that she hadn’t been, and that she was actually as interested in him as she seemed to be. He’d imagined sex with Rose to be verbal, mental, something that would always keep him on his toes, be a struggle to keep his mind sharp as she worked his cock, but would always be worth the effort when she’d give him a smile, at the end. Maybe even a hug. He would have liked that.

And then there was Dave. Ah, yes, the youngest Strider. That had certainly come as a surprise, at the time. Seeing his Sprite as often as he had, being around him, being able to talk to him, had him thinking about him a lot more then John would have liked to admit. They’d been practically inseparable, for a little while at least, with John following him all over the place, Davesprite teasing him a little bit, but nothing too much, and had been willing to chat about everything and nothing in particular. Jade would join them too, of course, and those were actually the happiest memories he had of the ship, sitting down, leaning against Davesprite while Jade would sprawl out over their laps, not paying attention to whatever words they were saying, but soaking up just the sound of their voices.

But then the dreams started, dreams outside of any dream bubbles. Dreams like he used to have, except instead of playing out movies with his friends, or being super heros, or just playing around at a camp or at his house or at an amusement park, John was doing a whole lot of making out. And then making out turned into something more handsy. And he’d wake up hard, panting, frustrated and embarrassed with himself.

Then one day he dreamed he was going down on Dave, unsure but enthusiastic anyways as he worked as much of him as he could into his mouth, with the girls flanking him, only half dressed, running their hands through his hair and rubbing his back as they encouraged him on, told him how well he was doing, smiling and laughing and enjoying themselves as Dave lost all of the control he had on himself. John had woken up to a sticky mess in his boxers.

He could feel the blood starting to rush south, just at the memories of his dreams, and he turned the water from close to scalding to near painfully cold with a stony grimace. During the years he’d been gone, he hadn’t over thought what he was doing anymore, in the dead of the night, letting his eyes close and his mind wander and imagine that he was surrounded by his friends, loving them and being loved in return, with all the benefits that that allowed. But it was one thing to do that when they were miles and miles away. It was something else entirely to take himself in hand when they were literally just a door away. He was going to have a hard enough time dealing with them, as was. No need to add any fresh shame to the mix.

His shower was, expectedly, quick after that, barely taking the time to soap and rinse before he was drying off, rubbing his skin with the towel left in the bathroom- rather nice, especially from his experience with hotel towels, not the least bit scratchy- until his skin was red, and then went after his hair, figuring that anything he did to it couldn’t make it any worse. Next was getting dressed, in a fresh pair of jeans and a buttoned up flannel shirt, mostly just to prove that he had a wardrobe to his friends. Maybe to get them to understand that he had been taking care of himself when he’d been gone. And a little because the flannel hid some of the weight that he lost, if they happened to care about that. He couldn’t understand why they would, though. He’d been chubby as hell, before. And it wasn’t like he was a stick, now. Lots of people could count their ribs, it wasn’t unhealthy, he was pretty sure.

Quickly stooping to pick up his glasses, and his hat- he didn’t need his hat, he was inside, you don’t wear hats outside, that’s rude, but there he was, anyway, his hands fixing it on his still damp hair with a mind of his own, and god help him, he didn’t think he could manage without the thing anymore- he opened the door, making as much noise in the process as he could. Giving them a fair warning that he was coming out.

He saw them, sitting on one of the beds, Rose leaning against the headboard, and Jade next to Dave. Well, next to wasn’t really the right word. If she were any closer, she’d have been in his lap. Which was a relief to John. Kind of.

He’d wanted his friends, all of his friends, to be able to find love, to be happy, after everything. Honestly, it was the least that they deserved. And Jade and Davesprite had been great together while they lasted, and though John had never actually heard why they’d split up, he was pretty sure it wasn’t over a compatability issue. So it made sense that they’d be together, now. It made sense, and it was good, because they could understand each other like almost no one else on the entire planet could. They would be what the other deserved.

He was happy. He really, really was. And that little pang of longing he felt, looking at them, could just go and wither and die in some dark corner of his soul, because he could never be what either of them needed. Not Jade. Not Dave. And not Rose.

It was that thought that had him shuffling forward, carefully removing his gaze, even as he felt theirs trained on him, and sat, carefully, on the edge of the opposite bed, facing them but no longer looking at the beautiful, amazing, perfect group of people sitting in front of him.

“You don’t have to sit all the way over there,” Jade says, and John wasn’t sure what they talked about or agreed in the short amount of time he was in the bathroom, but the edge to her tone was gone. He couldn’t help but wish that it wasn’t, though, because without the bite of anger, she just sounded sad, and tired. “There’s room over here, if you want to join us.”

He knew there was room. Plenty of space for him to fit in between Rose and Jade, physically.

But there might as well have been a giant wall, separating them. John couldn’t go over there and join them. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed. That spot was for a different John Egbert. A John Egbert who’d been stupid and ignorant, but happy. A John Egbert who would have done everything he could have to stay with his friends, no matter what the cost might have been. A John Egbert who had died a long time ago, asleep on a stone bed, not of his own persuasion, but because somebody else had to hold his hand the entire fucking way.

He wasn’t sure what he was, but he knew what he wasn’t. He wasn’t that John Egbert anymore. He wasn’t their John.

His fingers were just fisting in the turned down sheets of the bed, his arms were just tensing, getting ready to push himself up and just leave, whatever protests they might have aside, he couldn’t do this anymore, when Dave cleared his throat, surprising John enough to gain his full attention.

“Did you know,” the Texan started, tone dry and serious, his expression carefully blank, “that you can fit 64 Earths inside of Uranus?”

There was a pause. A pause that seemed to last forever as John just stared, opened mouthed, at his best friend, brain working in shuddering jokes to understand that, yes, Dave Strider did just crack, of all things, a Uranus joke. His lips quirked up, his shoulders untensed, and before John could really understand what was happening, he was snickering under his breath, and then chuckling.

Dave grinned, his hands coming up to shoot a quick double pistol, and John’s laugh turned into a snort, and it was all over. Jade and John were laughing loudly, physically unable to keep still, John shaking and covering his mouth, trying to quiet himself, while Jade threw her arms over Dave’s shoulders, clinging as she kicked her feet and cackled. Dave himself looked pretty damn smug, and Rose rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, a fond expression on her face as she glanced between those closest to her.

It took a good five minutes for them all to calm down, John and Jade both gasping for breath, smiling and a little teary eyed, stomachs a little sore in the best way. And it was a deep, shuddering breath that Jade smiled sunnily over at John, untangling herself from Dave enough to hold one arm out, palm up, inviting, towards her male double.

“See? You’re not nearly as different as you like to think you are, haha!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while out, but my sibling graduated from High School, so I had been busy with that. I can't promise to be the faster, but I can promise that I'm sticking with this til the bitter end, so feel to join on for this crazy ride.
> 
> Also, also, If you guys don't think Uranus jokes are the height of comedy, then you are doing comedy wrong, I'm sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

Not nearly as different? As easy as that? So he laughs at some stupid joke, and everything’s just like it used to be? Well, gosh, he sure did wish he knew that before! Would have made his life so much simpler!

John sighed, hunching over a little where he sat on the edge of the bed, resting one arm on his thighs while he pushed his glasses up a little and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other, hoping the bit of pressure stop the oncoming headache he could feel starting, a growing pressure-pain right behind his eyes. A stress headache. Or maybe a sign of dehydration? When was the last time he actually took the time to drink anything? Or maybe he just needed a smoke. Probably a combination of all three.

“If I haven’t changed, then you know that I didn’t... I wasn’t doing it to be some kind of asshole.” He had changed, but that fact remained the same. He never really meant to be an ass, or a jerk, most of the time. Never to his friends, at least. It just happened. He would open his mouth without really thinking, or his fingers would move like they had a mind of their own, and out would spill words that had seemed perfectly innocent when he thought them, an observation made without judgement, not colored by any kind of spite, but would end up offending everyone. But leaving had been what he had to do. It was the best thing for everyone involved, and if they would just stop and _listen_ to him, they’d all realize that. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but it was the only thing that I could do right by everyone, after everything.”

“We know your reasoning behind your actions, John,” Rose retorted immediately, the thin lines of her brows drawn low, mouth turned down in a frown. Roxy had given him a summary of the spiel the youngest- the _only_ \- Egbert had given her. “And, to be quite frank, it’s bullshit.”

A tic started, right by John’s left eye, and he could feel his pulse starting to race as anger began to bubble up towards the surface. He didn’t do what he did for _bullshit_. It wasn’t fucking easy trying to travel the damn country when you’re underage. It wasn’t fucking a walk in the park finding mostly legal ways to feed yourself when you’re basically a lone gypsy. And it sure as _Fuck_ wasn’t a goddamn piece of cake when the flashbacks hit, and he was either alone, or surrounded by strangers who didn’t have a fucking clue, who treated him like he was just another crazy, homeless loser, probably tweaking on some hard drug he should have known better then to take. He’d once been a _God_ , and he’d been left curled in on himself, tucked into any corner he could find, riding out the memories as quietly as he could, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself, not sure of what he would do if anyone got too close.

“How much time have you guys lost already in your schedules to come out here?” He asked, voice a deceivingly calm tone. He didn’t need them to answer to know that they all had very busy lives, and there was no way that them dropping everything to come halfway across the country didn’t mess something up. Dave’s answering “That’s irrelevant,” just proved him right.

He snorted a little, unable to really help himself, because the Time Player saying that losing time didn’t matter... well, that was the first real irony he’d ever heard Dave actually speak, in all his years of knowing him.

“Quite frankly,” he drawled, looking each of his friends in the eyes- approximately where the eyes should be, in Dave’s case, “that’s bullshit. And also justifies me leaving in the first place. I’m just dead weight by this point, and I’m only going to bring you guys down. If I hadn’t have left when I did, none of you would have been able to accomplish even a quarter of what you managed to do, because you would have been too busy with my own bullshit, and-“

“Did you ever stop and think,” Dave broke him off, his accent notably heavier, a sure sign of agitation, “that even if we’d ended up in a run down shack, barely making ends meat, we would’ve been happier, as long as we were all together?”

Of course he’d thought of that. He thought about that quite a fucking lot, as a matter of fact. But it didn’t change the facts.

“I wouldn’t have been happy, though,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he _could_ be happy anymore. Content, sure. Comfortable, yeah. Happy...? Well. He probably didn’t deserve to be, anyway. “If we’re going to play the ‘let’s make everyone happy’ game, then you can’t just ignore my thoughts on the matter. It’s not a majority rules kinda thing. It’s all or nothing!”

The tic went even faster, an annoyance that he barely even recognized but just added to the growing frustration. They weren’t kids anymore. They were too old to pretend like just being happy and content with life was enough. Dave, Rose, Jade, they still had things left to give to society, roles left to play. They were important. The gifts that they had, that they could share with the world, were important. He didn’t have anything left to give. Hell, even if Sburb had never happened, he wouldn’t have been anything special. Just another average, everyday John, who wasn’t anything special. But now, he was even less then that.

Rose and Dave were both frowning at him, lips pursed in such a similar show of agitation that John could almost laugh, except that Jade didn’t look frustrated, or angry with him. She looked concerned.

Which she had a right to, she supposed. Even he could hear how he was growing steadily louder, his tone up in pitch, and he couldn’t quite keep still, arms and legs twitching every once in a while as the irate energy swirled around inside of himself. He knew those symptoms well enough, and so did she. The last time she saw them, he started screaming bloody murder until he passed out.

A bad habit from his childhood, one that he’d tried very hard to quit once he’d gone out on his own. Throwing a tantrum and then passing out when you’re surrounded by strangers wasn’t terribly safe, and despite everything, John did try to take care of himself.

So instead of letting himself go on, like he wanted to, because passing out sounded really rather nice, he flopped back on the bed, feeling his hat slip off from the movement even as his hands came up, fingers working their way under his glasses, covering his face, and concentrating on his breathing. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Wasn’t even a teen. He could control himself and not scare his friends just because he was a dumb ass who had what looked like self destructive tendencies. They didn’t deserve that. So he could control himself. If only for a little while.

After a few moments- or maybe a lot of moments, he couldn’t really tell, he’d never been good at judging time and it’s passage- John began to notice how quiet it was. It was weird. Everything he recalled of his friends was of constant chatter, between Dave’s rambling and Rose’s lecturing and prosing, and Jade’s happy banter. One more thing he’d managed to fuck up, apparently. Good job, John.

Slowly, he moved his hands off of his face, gazing blearily at the ceiling, only able to half see out of his askewed glasses, and just started to open his mouth to apologize, for everything, when there was a sudden warmth and weight against his side, soft, the smell of sunlight and the subtle undertone of chemicals wafting up as Jade laid her head on his chest, laying an arm over his stomach, half hugging him.

”...I know that we’re gonna argue, and we’re going to fight, and things are probably going to get even worse before they get better, but... Fuck, I’m just really happy you’re here, okay? I missed you, John. I missed you a lot.”

He blinked, almost frantically, trying to keep from tearing up, because yeah, he missed her too. Missed all of them. Missed everything. So he allowed himself, just for a little while, to soak in the closeness, the familiarity of it. His own arms lowered, on draping across her slender torso, the other resting against her shoulder blades, hand in her hair, tickling his wrist as he petted her head- and it was so strange, so very strange to do that without an ear getting in the way, no soft white fur to rub and scritch, just long, thick, black hair, uninterrupted.

He wasn’t allowed to muse very long on that difference, though, because soon there was another warmth on his other side, and Rose was laying her head against his shoulder, her small pale hand resting on his on Jade’s back, connecting them all, surrounding him with softness and warmth. It felt good. Almost too good. It was more physical contact then he’d allowed himself in years, nearing half a decade.

But again, he wasn’t allowed to over think that, to start to get unsettled, because the next thing he knew, Dave had found his way on top of all of them, flopping himself along their legs, pulling a grunt out of John as Jade squeaked and Rose let out an undignified snort, half sitting up to try and push her fellow Dersite off. Dave stuck fast, though, an impossible, lovable pain in the ass.

And for the first time, in a long time, as he watched Jade and Rose try to roll the Strider off of them, laughing and giggling quietly all the while, John thought that maybe, just maybe, things would work out alright after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A step in the right direction? Or just the calm before the storm?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end of Jangst Egangstbert, my friends. He'll still make an appearance every now and then, but we are starting down the slow rode of recovery.

Time seemed to slow down to a trickle again, but John was okay with that, cocooned in warmth and soft curves and hard angles and the scent of lilacs and chemicals and coffee and memories, a sense of rightness. He remembered the first time he’d felt that way, back in he laboratory on his land, surrounded by baby versions of his friends, and tiny young ecto-parents/children. He hadn’t even known what he’d done, he significance of it all, but seeing his friends, tiny and vulnerable but right there, was the first time he’d ever felt that bit of contentedness in the back of his mind, subtle though it was. The first hint that he’d been missing something his entire life, brought to the forefront when they were all together again, grown up beyond their age.

He realized that he was only complete when he was with the rest of them, they were made to be together- which made him wonder, later, how he trolls could have stood to kill each other off, because just the thought of losing Jade or Rose or Dave to death, real death, forever death killed him inside-, and it had hurt so much, forcibly separating himself from them, amputating a dead limb before it could infect the rest of the body. I had hurt so much that he hadn’t really felt the pain. He knew it was there, he could feel a dull ache, but it was distant. Buried. Covered, like he was in shock, his brain unable to process what he’d managed to do.

Or didn’t want to. He supposed that would make sense, too, his subconscious protecting his brain, knowing that he couldn’t actually handle what he’d done, and he just hadn’t realized it until then, forgotten that he’d been in pain until suddenly his soul wasn’t hurting anymore. He had plenty of practice at it, after all.

He tried not to dwell on it, though. There was time for that, later, when his friends weren’t around to see him have a breakdown. Or, more of a breakdown.

But, of course, life didn’t cater to his whims, and after what felt like only a few moments (lifetimes), he felt Rose shifting at his side, sitting up slightly, and he cracked an eye open to watch her make a move to reach into her sylladex.

“I know it’s a tad late, now, but we did get you a sort of birthday present- John?”

Birthday had barely even left Rose’s dark painted lips before he was twisting, turning, bucking, eyes wide but unseeing as he tried to get them off, off of him, away from him, a once comfortable pile suddenly turned into a suffocating prison. He didn’t _want_ a fucking present, he’d been hoping, praying that some miracle could have happened and they would have forgotten all about that damn date, he wasn’t going to be fucking _gifted_ because he accidentally made everyone out of weird ass ooze on a certain day. He wasn’t going to be rewarded for not only destroying their entire planet, but for making their guardians, the ones that raised, that had cared for them, that had loved them become perma-dead. A drink for the fallen, for the lost, that was all that he allowed himself on that day, because there sure as _hell_ wasn’t anything to celebrate!

Rose stopped reaching, instead twisting back around to take a hold of one of John’s shoulders, putting more of her weight on it then she would have liked, but he was a lot stronger then he looked, and she was worried hat should she let him go, he’d do something drastic and hurt himself. Jade followed her lead, and presses down on his chest, trying to keep his torso down, even as Dave shifted, holding his legs together, keeping him from kicking even as he held him in place. It all should have kept him still, if not the brute physical strength then the concern lacing the faces of those closest to him, dripping from their voices as they called his name, John, _John, John!_

John, what’s wrong?

John, please, stop!

John, bro, what did you do to yourself?

But he doesn’t stop, gritting his teeth and thrashing until his shoulders ached, his back burned, because he was right, he’d been right all along, he couldn’t bring anything but pain to everyone, _God_ he hadn’t even been in their presence for even half a day and he was already stressing them out.

“I can’t do this, I can’t _Do_ this, let me go, let me GO!!!” His voice was high, cracking, hysterical, even John could hear that, hear his breath catching and heaving until he could barely get any air at all, everything was dark and heavy and stifling and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, _please_!

“Rose, he’s fucking panicking, _do something_ ,” Dave hissed as he shifted again, straddling John’s legs, sitting on his thighs so he could keep them still even as he grabbed onto his waist, holding on as well as he could.

“John, breath, please. We have you, we’re right here, you’re fine, I promise, everything’s okay!” Jade laid her forearm across his shoulder and a bit of his chest, holding herself up and him down on I, leaving her other hand free to run through his hair, something he recognized as a comforting act.

But he was beyond comforting at that point.

“It’s not, no, it’s _Not_ okay! It’s never _Been_ okay, and it never _Will_ be!” He could feel his mouth opening, his tongue moving, his throat working to get out words, bu he couldn’t actually hear, his ears buzzing, the sound of his blood rushing overwhelming everything else, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t think of anything but how he didn’t wanna be there anymore. “Why won’t you just let me go, just let me be, please, _please_ I’m fucking everything up why couldn’t you have just let me die in damned peac- _fhah_!”

His head snapped to the side, and it took him a second to process he way his cheek was burning, stinging. The shock of the sudden pain, in his cheek, in his neck, brings almost blinding clarity, and he hears a growl- Jade, he knows that sound, is intimately familiar with it, and it’s not a sound he ever wants to hear, because it means she’s pissed- and Rose is talking, hissing through her teeth like she doesn’t trust herself to stay quiet otherwise.

“...and after everything we’ve managed to live through, there is no way in _hell_ that we would just sit by and allow you to waste yourself, and I _know_ , Egbert, that you aren’t even nearly stupid enough to believe that we would. So why don’t you stop acting like a child and actually utilize the fully functioning gray matter between your ears like the adult you are?”

Watery blue eyes slowly glanced at Rose, and a quiet voice in the back of John’s head noted that she looked magnificent when she was pissed, pale cheeks flushed with color, amethyst eyes as sharp as her tongue, back stiff, and even with her hair mused- so strange, so different without her headband, she looks so grown up, she _is_ grown up-, she looks regal, in charge. But he barely listens to what she says, picking up the tone, a few words here and there. He’s really not aware of much at all, just that he was limp, still, and that he deserved Rose tearing him a new one. And Jade growling. He deserved that, too.

And the slap. He deserved that slap, and more.

He’d thought about that, before. About how he wished someone would just come around and beat the shit out of him, for everything he’d done, for everything he caused. It wasn’t a thought that he let himself dwell on, but it was always there, in the back of his mind, and for the first time, the thought was humored. And by one of his best friends, no less. Rose. Maybe it started to make up for things, a little. Make up a bit for all of those times that she tried to talk to him, tried to tell him things, and he just laughed her off, geez rose your blabbering monster speech sure is funny isn’t it, why don’t we try a game of charades instead? Make up for her having to find her mother, dead, and his father too, because he’d been too busy going out and having a joyride to come and save them. Make up for the fact that he couldn’t save her, either, when the time came for that.

Despite the thoughts running through his head, John felt... light. Relieved. Better then he had in five, no, eight. Eight years. Since he was thirteen, and didn’t actually know what loss was, when the biggest worry on his mind was how he was going to manage to burn off his baby fat when Dad kept insisting that he eat three cakes a day.

And then there was a hand, on his cheek, a thumb smearing something wet, and he realized that he was crying. And he began to sob.

He started to apologize, in his head, maybe out his mouth, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was that he was sorry, so very sorry, for everything, sorry to Rose, sorry to Dave, sorry to Jade, until he couldn’t even think that anymore, and he was blessedly embraced by unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jade's point of view in this one. Next one we switch to Dave's. Get ready for that one, it's going to be an emotional doozy.

He'd been out for a while- almost seven hours, but Jade wasn't worried. Or more, of course she was worried, just like Dave and Rose, but she was more familiar with this kind of behavior being exhibited by John. Sometimes, she remembered, he'd stay awake for days on end, only to be found later, on a couch, at a table, at a desk, completely passed out from exhaustion. He'd stay up until he would actually start hallucinating, seeing or hearing things, paranoid, saying his slimer pogo was chasing him, he always knew the damned thing had it out for him; or the infamous birthday where he screamed and ranted up at a Davesprite in the sky that just wasn't there. After one of those episodes, it hadn't been uncommon for him to sleep for a solid day and a half or so.

She sighed, and reached up from where she'd been laying beside her ecto-quasi-brother, brushing stray hairs absentmindedly off of his forehead, as she took in his appearance. He looked so young, so innocent when he was sleeping, but if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by, she'd hazard a guess that he'd been just starting to reach his sleepless limit.

She wondered if it was because he still had nightmares of waking up in a dream bubble, surrounded by the corpses of Rose, her mother…and his father.

She wished she had known. Wished she had thought to ask John how his time in the bubbles went. It had just been so simple for her to manipulate her own, and the few people that she ran across handled the bubbles so easily, she thought it was just an inherit skill everyone who came in contact with the Game would have. She never even considered the possibility that John would get stuck in his own personal version of hell.

That had always been the problem, though, hadn't it? She never really thought to ask John if he was okay, because the concept of John _not_ okay was just so strange, so alien. John was the rock of the group; no matter what was going on, you could count on him to crack that beautiful, imperfect, contagious smile, and you just knew that everything was going to turn out alright in the end. His smile was a beacon of hope, something to fight for, something to strive for. Before the Game, it had been a reprieve from everyone's less than average lives; talking to John could make anyone feel blessedly normal, he gave them a chance to just be kids, talking to another kid, talking to their friend, who didn't expect anything out of them then to just be themselves. During the Game, it was a reminder of what they were fighting for, everything good that they wanted back, needed back, were damn sure going to get back.

It had been something that she thought about a lot, and God knew she and Davesprite had brought it into conversations enough times, had sat down and had feelings jams that would invariably, eventually take a turn that lead to John. So why was it that she only found out about his dreams just when everything was ending, and he picked up that little consort of his one last time, whispering so quietly, she wouldn't have heard if not for the fact that her ears just so happened to be tilted the right way at the time, that he'd miss her, but at least she wouldn't have to hear about his dead daddy issues anymore. So why was it that, if she and Davesprite, and even Nannasprite on occasion, would talk about the importance of John, how much he meant to everything, and everyone, and how they just prayed he wasn't going to actually be The Hero, let anyone else take that place because no one could stand the thought of him sacrificing himself for everyone else, how was it that he never knew that they felt that way? How was it that, as often as she thought about his smile, she didn't notice when it disappeared.

"Fuck." She shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder- too bony, it didn't used to feel like that, all hard sharp angles, she used to love leaning up against his shorter frame, resting with her head on his lap, just to be able to touch and hold him, she missed that, she missed _him_ \- blindly reaching for his hand, threading their fingers together, calming herself by comparing the two. For how much smaller John was on a whole, it never ceased to amuse her how his hands were just as big as her own, his palm a little shorter and his fingers a little longer, but when placed together, heel of the palm to the tips of the fingers, the difference in length was infinitesimal. It would be funny, their size, if it weren't for the fact that they were absolutely the most beautiful hands Jade had ever seen on anyone. They were lovely, skin so smooth, not roughened from years spent out in the sun like her own, or even to a certain extent Dave's, though he was sporting a bit of a tan that she was sure he never had before. And the pads of his fingers were not as soft and gentle as she once recalled, but were still newborn smooth compared to the callouses of her own hand, brought from years of working her garden and maintaining her guns and tinkering with her experiments, and markedly smoother from Dave's own fingers, tempered from years of swordplay and scratching his records in his spare time. Rose was the closest comparison she could think of, and even then, it was hardly a match, when one of Rose's hands had built up protective callouses from years of mastering the strings of her violin.

But both of John's hands were so soft, a gentle touch, fascinating to watch dexterous fingers work, move absentmindedly, fascinating to watch his hands wave about emphatically, enthusiastically, whenever he'd talk. So different from Davesprite, and how he had always held himself stiff, like he was afraid of his body giving too much of his thoughts away. So different from any of the trolls she ran across in her dreams. When John talked, it wasn’t just with his mouth. He communicated with his entire body.

Or, he used to, all the time. Jade didn't like the new way he went quite, not just with his voice, but his hands, his eyes, quiet and still and shut down. She especially didn't like the quiet, calm tone he used when he tried to convince them to just let him walk out of their lives at first, with his eyes as large and earnest as she could ever recall, like it was just the reasonable, _expected_ thing for them to let him do. She didn't like a single damn bit of it.

But she loved John. And if that…new facet of his personality was a permanent one, then she'd learn to live with the quiet tones and the quiet hands. Because she was never going to be separated from him again, to go without him again, and if John thought any differently, then he could just go and kiss her ass.

He shifted, stiffening, and all other thoughts were forgotten as Jade pushed herself up on her elbow, brushing the back of her fingers tenderly across John's cheek, cooing softly and pressing a gentle kiss onto his forehead as he blinked wearily up at her, looking confused and lost.

"...Jade?" he slurred, squinting up at her, vision blurry, not only because of his lack of glasses, but from just waking up.

"Yeah, it's me." She stretched her legs out, resting the right one right along the side of her fellow Prospit Dreamer's, hoping that it all seemed just very casual, when in reality she was actually getting herself ready at a moment's notice to wrap up around him, to put him in some kind of hold, a headlock if she could manage it, because if he freaked out again, there was just no way she could keep him pinned down all by herself, size difference non-withstanding. John had always been stronger then he looked, even when he wasn’t in a blind panic.

He turned his head, brows furrowing as he attempted to look around. " Rose and Dave went out for a bit, but they'll be back soon." She absentmindedly played with the ends of his hair, even as her own eyes flickered towards the door. They'd been hesitant to leave even for a little bit, but unlike Jade, they actually had schedules for their work that involved other people, people that they had to talk to every once in a while over the phone, if not in person. They also had more experience in making sure that when they went traveling, it stayed quiet and out of the public's eye. Which meant that Jade insisted that they be in charge of working out how they were all going to quietly get back to the little home sweet home they built in California.

And, well, there were some things that she had to say to John. Herself. And it wasn't that she particularly cared about Dave or Rose hearing, but they'd immediately come in and try to support her, protect her, coddle both her and John, and if they did that, she'd never get it off of her chest. She needed to be able to move on before she could help John do the same, and as much as she loved her blond menaces, they couldn't help with it, because they just weren't there.

Besides, she was kind of hoping that they'd go and have a quickie or something while they were out, and then tell her all about it so she could live vicariously through her Dersites for a moment or two. Lord knew that a quick lay wouldn't hurt a single one of them.

"Oh..." He blinked again, a slow, unsure motion, and then he was rolling onto his side, facing Jade, and to his blurry vision, she looked all of about sixteen again, too young to have the weight of worlds resting upon her slender shoulders. "Jade… Jade, please. I can go, right now. Be out of your hair for good." He was barely even awake, and it showed, in the way he his speech was almost slurred, mouth not quite moving at the same speed as his brain, in the way that he just casually placed his hand on her waist, squeezing, attempting to give her physical encouragement to say goodbye. Like a pat on the shoulder, you can do it, Sis, I believe in you, go and do the right thing. Showed in how big and wide and _earnest_ his eyes were.

The words were barely out of his mouth when Jade was curling around him, arms wrapping around his neck, pushing his face against her shoulder even as she was tossing her leg over his thighs, hooking it to keep him close, burying her face in his hair.

"We can't just let you go, numbnuts," she breathed, words muffled slightly, but the way he stiffened, tensed under her let her know that he heard. "You're a part of us. An integral part. And I..." her voice broke for a second, and she squeezed him harder, "I'm sorry that I let you convince yourself otherwise. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm so sorry I didn't pay enough attention, I'm-"

"No. No, no, no no no, stop!" And then he was squeezing her back, arms clenched almost painfully around her, but she'd chew her own foot off before she'd say anything about it. "Goddammit, _No_ , Jade, it's not like that! Not a single damn bit of anything is your fault, so don't you _dare_ blame yourself!"

She snorted, slightly, because honestly, if there was anyone _to_ blame, it was going to be her. She was the only other human- well, halfway human, maybe- he had contact with for three years. She was one of three other people on the ship with whom he could actually sit down and have intelligent conversations with, let alone ones about feelings and how what was going on was actually affecting everyone. The other two were the ghost of a grandmother he never actually knew, and a version of his best friend who, admittedly, seemed to go out of his way an awful lot of aggravate the heir. If she had actually stopped to think, she would have recognized that the only one who'd he'd actually feel comfortable talking to about anything would be her. But she hadn't been thinking, and she hadn't been paying attention. After the first few months, managing the planets and the ship were second nature, barely a whisper of a thought in the back of her mind, so that couldn't even be used as an excuse. And the relationship she had with Davesprite… No singular relationship was more important than her friends, even if said relationship was with another friend. Maybe especially if it was with another friend.

"I can actually kind of feel you thinking stupid things, and you need to stop." She snorted again, but that time with more genuine humor. "....Seriously, though. You had enough on your plate without adding my issues into the mix. Especially when there wasn't anything you could have done o help me then. ...Or now, unless you know a way to permanently obliterate a few memories."

The last part was mumbled, quiet, obviously not meant for her to actually hear, which was probably for the best. She had no idea how to respond to it. Even if she was somehow capable of doing that, destroying memories, she couldn't imagine actually doing it. No matter how painful they might be, they were the fabric of everyone's being, every last bit of it. If she wouldn't consent to forgetting the time that an evil alien queen took over her mind- which was, for the record, the worst, most horrifying experience that she ever had, and would rather be blown up and put back together by slimy, tentacled eldritch gods for a thousand years then have someone invade her mind like that again- then there was no way she could allow it to happen to John. Her John. He wouldn't be her John anymore if he lost part of himself. She'd lose him, forever, and she couldn't have that, she just fucking found him again.

So, instead, she said "I love you," because she did. More then he could probably even imagine right then. But she was going to make it her life's goal to show him.

But then he immediately responded, too easily to have put conscious thought into it, "I love you, too." So maybe it wouldn't be such a difficult job. Maybe even John, beautiful John, stubborn as hell John, subconsciously understood what they all needed.

It was nothing if not a good sign.

"Oh, good. You're awake, John." Jade looked up, smiling and loosening her hold on the blue eyed man as she watched he blond duo walk in, a little surprised that she hadn't heard them opening he door. And then the scent of freshly- _very_ freshly- applied perfume and cologne followed them, heavier even then the heavily garlic scent of Italian food, and her trained eyes caught the slight muss of Rose's hair, the sight of a mark barely hidden by Dave's collar. Her smile turned into a grin, and she waggled her eyes at the Texan above John's head, and behind his reflective shades, she caught the hint of movement that signified a wink. "We figured you'd be hungry, so we took the liberty to get some dinner. I do hope you still enjoy lasagna."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave's POV?
> 
> Dave's POV.
> 
> Next chapter will be mostly Dave's, too, because when I get started with a Strider, I have a hard time stopping.

Getting back home was actually rather simple. Sometimes, being a director actually did have some perks, because you tend to meet a lot of people, and one of the people that you've meet, and consequently been owed a favor by, knew a guy in the area that happened to own a small plane, just big enough to hold eight people, as luck would have it. It had only took two phone calls to get everything set up, and the next day, they were on a plane, thousands of feet above the ground, making their way back to the temperate climate of California once more.

Dave was actually pretty happy with turn of events. He always preferred the smaller plains, actually being able to feel it move on the currents on the air, instead of the false sense of stillness brought on by the larger airlines. He had hoped that John would also appreciate that fact, and he seemed to, well enough, gazing out the window he'd sat next to. He didn't talk all that much, had been quiet, but that seemed to be normal for him, now, the whole not speaking unless being directly spoken to, and if his eyes carried a bit of melancholic nostalgia in them, well, at least the rest of him was relaxed. He remembered Jade took it hard, being separated from her aspect, still having an uncanny sense of space and vastness but unable to control it anymore. Not like Rose and himself, who had felt almost relieved to no longer have the responsibility of their own. Time was heavy, and so was the knowledge that Light could bring, and only having one path to walk upon, knowing that there was no turning back if you fucked up, was scary, but… he would be lying if he said that the simplicity of it all wasn't a relief. He supposed it would make sense that John would miss the winds, just as much. Where Time had, despite all the opportunities it allowed, restricted him, Breath had done nothing but allow John freedom.

Maybe he could find some way to give him a bit of that back. There were lots of ways to get some wind in your hair, after all. Bungee jumping. Hang-gliding or para-gliding. Sky diving for the particularly adventurous. Jake would go and do that, sometimes, if he remembered right. He should go and talk to English about it.

" John, I don't recall you ever having received that injury..." He blinked, not having noticed that he had spaced out until Rose spoke up, and turned his gaze just in time to see her lightly trace her finger across the shell of John's ear, and actually noticed for the first time the jagged looking scar there, the small chink in otherwise untouched perfection, and Dave couldn't help a small wince. Scars were far from being something uncommon, and Lord knew he had more then enough of his own, he certainly wouldn't think twice about anyone else’s, but the way it was bunched up, and ugly, shining knotting… That wound hadn't healed well, at all. Hell, he doubted it had even actually been bandaged.

John, on his part, looked a little confused, his own hand coming up to his ear before his eyes widened in understanding, cracking an almost shy little smile. "Oh. Haha, I forgot about that one." _Forgot about that one_. As in there was more then one. Jesus Christ, Dave did not like the sound of that. "It's actually kind of stupid."

"Stupid stories are the best stories," Jade piped in, and he didn't have to be able to see her face to know she was making that sly grin of hers that always meant trouble. "Just ask Dave. They’re the only kind he tells."

He pursed his lips a little as Jade and Rose shared a snicker, letting his shades trail down the bridge of his nose, allowing himself to give John a long suffering look, even as he shifted in his seat, throwing his arm across Jade's shoulder and pressing the tip of his index finger into her ear, not nearly as effective saliva free, but still got her squealing and shoving his hand away while simultaneously trying to kick him in the shin. She clipped him, and it hurt like hell, but the sound of John's chuckle intermingling with Rose's was a music he'd be willing to go through a bit of pain for.

"Alright, alright. Quit beating up on Strider, and I'll tell you." Jade does stop kicking, but she gets in one last quick elbow to his side when John leaned back into his seat, head rolling back to look up at the ceiling of the plane as he recalled the story.

"So, about a year after I…I left, I found myself somewhere in the Midwest, I can't even actually remember which state, now, and I just so happen to see an add that said that the circus that had been going through town had lost their organ player due to an illness, and was in desperate need of a new on, ASAP. I figured it was basically as close to divine providence I was ever going to get, so I went to audition? Really wasn't much of one, though. They asked me to play 'Take me out to the Ballgame', with the sheet music. I'm pretty sure their monkeys could've managed that.

"So, I got the job, mostly because I was the only one who showed up, and I stayed with them until they could find someone who was actually trained to play the organ, which took quite a few months. I guess it's not really all that popular of an instrument?" He shook his head, shrugging a little, as if to say, what can you do, and ran a hand through his hair, surprisingly bereft of any protective hat. "I'm getting kind of off point, though. Sorry. The, uh, injury came from a night when I was sitting down with the strong man and his tightrope walking girlfriend."

There was a gentle brush of fingers against the back of Dave's hand, and he glanced down in surprise, only to notice that his hand had clenched around Jade's arm, where it had just been resting before. He murmured a quiet apology, and rubbed his fingers against her arm, moving the soft fabric of her shirt with each motion, but quickly returned his gaze to John. He knew jealousy was unbecoming, but there it was, he was practically green of anyone who got to spend any amount of time with John when he wasn't allowed to. It wasn't fair, and if John knew it would probably even come off as really fucking creepy. Which was the reason that he tried very hard to not mention it to anyone else, especially John, even before everything had gone to hell. It wasn't like he was actively trying to be an overly possessive asshat, it just came naturally. 

"I know you always prided yourself on your mangrit, but please ell me that you did not get in a fight with a Strong Man."

John grinned, but he must have seen some real concern on Rose's face, because he reached over and pat her knee. "I haven't done anything that stupid in a very long time. You'd don't have to worry about that. We'd just been drinking a little, and I decided to bet him that he couldn't pick me up. There's a trick for it, all about where they have to grab you and not having the right amount of leverage. I've made quite a bit of money from that trick, actually, over the years. But Georg was actually so impressed with little old me outsmarting him in a test of strength that he gave me a friendly clap on the back, and sent me right into a chain link fence. Honestly, I didn't even notice I was bleeding or anything until they tied a bandana around my head to staunch the bleeding."

Dave fought back a wince, suddenly understanding why the scar looked so ugly. Not that he didn't have a few nasty ones himself, but all of his wounds had been carefully cleaned and bandaged. John had just allowed his to heal any which way it wanted to. "You must've been pretty fucking hammered to not even notice something like that, dude. Fuckin’ ears bleed like a sonuvabitch."

He tilted his head, scratching lightly at his jaw, a signal that he was feeling a little bit bashful. "Well, yeah. Just a bit. Learned my lesson, though. Never drank enough to get more than a little bit buzzed after that." A tension left the cabin of the plane, one that Dave hadn't even noticed was there until it dissipated, able to breath in freely again. Getting Rose past her dependency on alcohol had been difficult enough, he definitely didn't want to go through it again. 

There was a crackling noise as the small speakers set up to the cabin of the plane turned on, letting them know that they'd be landing soon, and to buckle up, which couldn't have happened a minute too soon, as far as Dave was concerned. He got in one good last stretch, and then settled in, buckling up with a satisfying click, before reaching over and pulling at Jade's, maybe 10% to actually check that she had it on right, but mostly 90% to just screw with her.

She twisted slightly towards him, leaning down just enough to hiss in his ear. "You think you're real cute, don't cha, Coolkid? You're damn lucky John's here, or I'd show you just how cute you actually are."

He raised a brow, even as he felt his heart start to speed up with interest, and fought the urge to shift in his seat. If John wasn't there, he probably would indulge her, because Jade was beautifully, wonderfully adventurous when she wanted to be, especially in public, and while that wasn't exactly his thing, between himself and Rose, one of them, if not both, were usually happy to oblige.

But John.

But John, after the night before, when he'd untangled himself from Jade's hold, had been hesitant to even so much as brush up against anyone else. He even seemed a bit uncomfortable with Rose just lightly touching him every once in a while as she sat beside him. Rose, of whom Dave _knew_ he used to have a rather large thing for, and even if he didn't, had always considered a dear friend, and would have jumped at the chance of casual physical contact with. Dave didn't think John would exactly mind if he just leaned over and kissed Jade, just a little, but anything more would make him uncomfortable, he knew.

Oh, he knew.

Which was why, once the plane had settled on the private little runway, and the ladies had already started walking towards the rental car parked near the hanger, he'd grabbed John as he started to walk by, hooking his finger in a convenient belt loop, giving the shorter man what he hoped was a calming twitch of grin, before turning his attention to paying the pilot, who was smart enough to not ask about John, though he did give him a few confused glances. He didn't need somebody scaring John, who was already far too skittish for anyone's liking. All he wanted to do was talk to his best friend, just a little bit, just by himself. Bro to bro.

He tugged lightly on John's pants once he had finished with his little business transaction, and they started walking towards their women, purposefully slowly on Dave's part, keeping his strides short, the excuse of doing so for John's shorter legs resting on the tip of his tongue if the youngest Egbert bothered to ask, but he knew better, and hell, so did John.

"You know I'm always here for you, right?" He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to acknowledge that they'd gotten to a point where he had to ask. "Any where you need me, any time you need me, any way you need me. It goes with the whole Knight thing, y'know? It's a job I'm happy to do."

"Heh. Yeah, Sirrah, I know." And John laughed a little, voice tinged with a friendly sarcasm that was achingly familiar, but when he looked up at Dave, he didn't meet his eyes, looking somewhere in the vicinity instead of his ear, and his shoulders are held up, just enough to be tense, just enough to look a little stiff, and Dave had to fight he urge to ball his hands into fists. Because John was guarding himself. Not against everyone else, not against the world as a whole. But against Dave. Against his best friend. Because he didn't trust him not to hurt him.

Dave couldn't even blame him, because in the end, he made John that way, he made this bed. Well, not him, exactly, but the sprite him.

Constructs were a tricky thing, for all that they followed some very simple base rules. After the game, most of them, he assumed, just disappeared. He was pretty sure that Jaspersprite and Nannasprite did, since they had nothing, no body to return to, and while he didn't have a clue as far as the Troll Sprites were concerned, he knew that they were made from throwing dead bodies together, so unless they got revived, they probably went on to nothingness, too. But his sprite, Davesprite, did have a body. Of a kind. Close enough to his own body, it seemed, because one second he was just himself, just regular old Dave, and the next, he had stark, clear memories of a place he'd never been to, emotional imprints that he'd never felt, and five more heaping helpings of guilt onto an already brimming plate.

Not that anyone else knew. He sure as fuck wasn't going to bring up his behavior on the Ship. He'd been hurt, he'd been angry, he had fluctuated between convincing himself that he had a purpose, and going through an existential crisis.

And he had taken it all out on John.

Taken it out on him because John went and got himself killed by some fucking alien, blindly putting his faith in a stranger, because the kid never fucking new any better, but he should have, he should have thought, he should have considered, he should have known how loosing him and Jade would kill Dave.

Taken it out on John because he came back and changed everything about himself just to make sure nothing like that ever happened again, destroyed himself, rebuilt himself, and he had the emotions of a human but he didn’t really think like one anymore and it scared him, and when he was scared he got pissed off, that was just how he functioned, Striders just do not handle fear well.

Taken it out on John because if he hadn’t gone and got himself, and subsequently Jade, killed then he wouldn’t have had to go back in the first place, he could have died in a doomed time line still being THE Dave. Jade’s Dave, Rose’s Dave, John’s Dave. And the asshole had the audacity when they met up to actually say that he forgot about him, about the Dave that came back to make sure he didn’t die.

Taken it out on John because he _knew_ John didn’t actually mean any of it, and once he realized that he fucked up, he went out of his way to try and make up for it, because he wasn’t a bad kid, he’d never been a bad kid, he talked before he thought but he never actually meant to hurt anybody, which was one of the reasons that he’d always been so drawn to John in the first damn place.

Taken it out on John because it was way too easy to let himself get lulled into the concept that John actually looked at him as his best friend, because as far as he was concerned, he was, and the bighearted son of a bitch, he knew that when they met up with the others, John wouldn’t actually abandon him for his session's Dave, but would do everything in his power to give equal amounts of affection to the both of them.

Taken it out on John because when the game was won, and he disappeared, he was going to break John’s heart, and that thought tore him up inside.

And the closer it got to the end, the more actively he pushed John away. It had started with little things, here and there, that he knew would annoy the fuck out of the Heir. And then he tried just straight up ignoring him, hoping that John would maybe actually get the hint and stop even trying, because he just wasn't worth all the pain he was going to end up bringing him. It was a bit better with Jade, because she understood what was happening, because of Jadesprite. She knew he was going to disappear at some point. She accepted it. John wouldn’t, couldn't understand, and would have no doubt ended up just getting himself into some kind of trouble trying to save someone who was not only incapable of being saved, but not worth the effort.

Finally, he began to actively go on the offensive when John kept trying, taking advantage of the vulnerability John showed him, the lack of defenses he kept up, because he would never, even for a second, think to consider all the ways his best friend could hurt him, break him like nobody else would ever have the opportunity to.

All it took was one little note on John's birthday, and he finally succeeded. John quit trying, quit so much as even talking to him for a long, long time. And when he finally did, in passing, it was curt, quick, shoulders up and eyes down.

Davesprite had succeeded in putting distance between John and himself, but he hadn't considered the fact that it was a double sided sword that the Heir, despite the words that occasionally rolled off of his tongue, didn't actually, truly consider him to be any different than his session's Dave, other than a few aesthetics. Because it was a two way street, and what applied to Davesprite, also applied to Dave. And it would make no difference to John that Dave would never be able to force himself to hurt him the same way.

When they had met up, for the first time, so much shit had been going on, Dave hadn't properly understood the distance he'd felt between himself and John, mistaking it for a shyness of some sort, because of how long it had been since they last talked. He hadn't thought to go and try and mend what he hadn't even realized was broken, and even if he had, ironically enough, he wouldn't have had enough time. And once he finally did learn, finally found out… He'd been so damned annoyed with himself for letting it get to that stage in the first place, for encouraging that rift between them, even, he'd been too ashamed to go and apologize to John.

And then he was gone, and he'd never gotten the chance.

God, he hoped that he wasn't too late.

"I get backseat with John this time," Jade informed everyone once they'd gotten close enough, giving Dave a sympathetic grimace over John's head, even as she grabbed him by the shoulders and started walking him towards the back of the car.

"I can walk to places all on my own, you know. I'm twenty-one, just like the rest of you, and am not a toddler, which you all seem to be mistaking me for."

"Ain't nobody confusing you for a toddler, Sweetheart." He hadn't even meant to actually say it out loud, hadn't realized that it had tumbled out of his mouth until he was in the driver's seat, looking in the rear view mirror, and caught the slightly suspicious look John was giving him. No, he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

But he wouldn't stress about it. Let John take it however he wanted to.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forget those voice recognition things. When are they going to make the technology that can write down all the different thoughts I have simultaneously in different documents? I could be knocking out 25% more stories if I had something that could do that, instead of writing a paragraph at a time of, like, ten different stories.
> 
> Oh well, I hope you guys enjoy this one, anyway.

"A couple hours down that way, and that's where the giant redwoods are. They're really fricking nifty, John, we'll have to show you someday, you'll love them."

Jade had been running a live commentary as Dave had driven through the California countryside and small towns. Every once in a while, he and Rose would throw in their two cents, but for the most part, Dave just watched the road and occasionally his passengers, who were watching the scenery pass by. John had been quiet- especially after Rose had pointed out an exit to a cafe she preferred when she needed a quiet space to think, and Dave had added in, without thinking, how it was a great place, the locals were pretty cool, and the 'razzi barely ever showed up, only to bite his tongue when he noticed John pale slightly-, but he seemed pretty interested in watching the countryside passing them by. California had definitely been the right choice for a steady home, despite the ridiculously high taxes. The weather was a perfect compromise that they could all live happily with, they were all close enough to their place of business that commuting wasn't a big deal, there was plenty of space and places they could go to get away, and they happened to own enough acres that Jade could play with explosives and guns to her heart's content. All and all, it was the perfect place for them to come back together and heal as a unit.

Green plains slowly melted into lightly forested roads, and soon enough, Dave was turning into a nondescript, almost hidden back road, stretching out for as far as the eye could see- which actually wasn't as far as it could be, with the trees and the bends in the road, following a more natural path instead of a perfectly straight man made one.

"What, no giant iron fence with a pretentious buzzer?" John asked on the third turn, having figured out they were on the last short stretch home without having to be told. The path was too isolated, obviously not used enough to be anything but private, and the way he could see his friends relax, shoulders loose and their expressions, if not outright smiling, were at ease. 

"We saved that for the New York villa," Dave answered, and wondered for a moment if he should feel bad that he wasn't joking. They didn't need two houses, no, but it was nice to have a private place to go to when their work would take them over to the East Coast, or when Rose just got tired of the laid back Cali attitude and wanted to hear a harder accent. And when schmoozing had to be done, everyone preferred to do it in the less personal house in the Hamptons then at their own personal Sanctuary.

John, for his part, was almost oddly unaffected by the concept of his friends actually owning a house that did have a cliched, rich person wrought iron fence to keep the plebeians at bay. If he were to be honest with himself, that was more along the lines of a home he'd picture them owning then anything else. Although he hadn't been raised up below the poverty line- had, in fact, his father had been quite a bit above the average income of typical middle class business men, though that wasn't really all that obvious if one didn't take into account the small fortune he'd spend about once a month or so on cake mix and shaving cream-, he didn't really consider himself anything more then financially average. His friends, were not average by any stretch, especially financially so. Jade's grandfather was an eccentric old coot that came from Old Money and somehow stored away more then he spent buying weird mummies and pictures of blue women and whatever antique happened to catch his fancy. Had enough, in fact, to make a ship made of practically solid gold and still had more then enough left over to make sure Jade would never want anything for at least twenty lifetimes. Rose's Mom had been a scientist, which was apparently pretty lucrative, enough so at least that she thought nothing of going out and buying ludicrously expensive booze and overpriced statues and bronzing a whole vacuum cleaner. And then, of course, Dave's Bro had a multimillion dollar puppet industry- which, John had learned with a little bit of googling, apparently did not exist before Dirk took it over a year after they "returned" to their earth, though Dave had told him that he still had the funds from them, just like Dirk still had the fund from Alpha Dave's movie industry, which did not exist either.

In short, his friends would never have to worry about money separately, let alone together, and he would have been much more surprised if they hadn't bought something ridiculously unnecessary without a second thought then if they hadn't.

Which was why, when the forest cleared and he could see a wide, open plain of grass and flowers, what looked like a homemade Ninja Warrior obstacle coarse, and a greenhouse that was about the same size as the relatively small, picturesque cabin that could have been right out of a Kinkade painting, John couldn't help but be taken aback. Other than the sheer size of the front yard, and the obstacle coarse, everything seemed normal. Certainly not average, but no giant apartment building out in the middle of nowhere. No magic zen palace. Not a tower topped with a large sphere in sight.

It was a surprise. Not an unwelcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.

Dave glanced in the rear view mirror, and could barely keep himself from literally puffing up with pride from the look of wonder on John's face. The inside was definitely more eccentric then the outside, filled with their own collections, definitely more weaponry then most people, especially those in government agencies, would be comfortable with, but as a whole, it was as quiet and peaceful and downright scenic a home that could ever be wished for. 

John let out a low whistle as they pulled into the driveway, and smiled a little when Jade elbowed him, grinning back, sharing a moment that needed no words, a moment that almost had Dave sighing with releif. It was nice to finally see the two of them able to share that almost twin like synchronicity, even a little bit. Jade had handled herself well, in those years without John, and Dave honestly didn't have any kind of concept of what it was like to be separated from someone that close to him, having not been more then a phonecall away from Rose since they actually met each other. But he did know how much better his life was when she was there for him, where they could keep each other in check. Or, a little in check, at least. Better then nothing, at least.

They'd barely gotten out of the car when the front door opened, revealing a tall, leanly muscled, freckled strawberry blond, and it manged to surprise Dave how, no matter how many times he'd seen him, Dirk still managed to take him by surprise. Almost as tall as Jade, wearing a plain tank, and those triangular anime shades that, for the life of him, he couldn't find anything but endearingly ridiculous. Stood there looking so much like Bro, from his gracefully high cheekbones to where Dave knew they both shared a- according to both Bro and Dirk- heart shaped birthmark on the outside of their left thigh. Looking nothing like Bro, without his hat, starting to show the first sign of laugh lines around his mouth, a mouth that didn't say words quite the right way, his accent off, just a little, just enough that it would sometimes make Dave dizzy.

Rose called out his name softly, with a nod, their usual greeting as everyone got out of the car, and Jade began to wave, thanking the other Strider for babysitting the pets while they were out, especially on such sort notice, but Dave quickly tuned her out, all his attention on his big-little bro, feeling like he was walking down the cobblestone path and up the couple of steps to the porch that Jade had insisted every cabin needed like he was moving in slow motion. Dirk's attention wasn't on either of the girls, though nobody else could probably tell, his eyes completely hidden behind the inscrutable shades. But Dave knew, he could tell, and as he watched the seemingly apathetic young man in front of him like a hawk, feeling his hackles rise.

Sure enough, John had just reached the top of the porch when Dave saw the slightest twitch of Dirk's fingers, the only warning they got before both Striders flashed forward: Dirk straight for John, Dave to put himself in between the two.

Or, that was his aim, at least, to shield John from the high speed hit that was coming his way, except something ended up hitting his shoulder, keeping his momentum going, and then a leather clad hand was on his side, pole-volting over his body, and the resounding smack of someone getting well and truly clocked. Dave hit the porch with a thump at the same time he felt the reverberation of John skidding upon the ground, barely letting out more then a pained groan.

There was the sound of a flurry of movement, clothes rustling softly as the wearers moved swiftly, so Dave didn't bother to look at John as he pushed himself up to his feet, knowing if he did he wouldn't be able to keep control of himself. Instead, he turned, grabbing onto Dirk's wrist, on the hand that he'd been shaking, sore from the impact of his hit, bruisingly hard, and yanked the other man towards him.

"You. Me. Roof. _Now_ ," he hissed, before shoving him away and climbing up the side of the house so swiftly that to anyone watching he'd only look like a blur. He didn't check to see if Dirk was following him, because i wasn't even questionable. A roof strife couldn't be ignored, or brushed aside. And if it was, Dave was going to do something he would probably regret later, as pissed off as he was about his own brother daring to do something like that to _his_ John. Pissed off because he'd only had his John back for less then two days and he was already literally pushing him away, not allowing himself to be protected.

Fuck that noise.

A blink after Dave found himself up on the slanted roof, feet finding an easy balance out of familiarity, when Dirk joined him, his katana already pulled out. The same damn one as always, Dave couldn't help but notice. Same plain, steel katana he'd had apparently since he was just a child.

Dave had to hand it to him, it was a hell of a reliable blade. And fast, much faster then even the bastard sword he pulled out, the one he kept specifically for when he sparred with someone who was particularly agile, when a broadsword would be more of a hindrance then a help. It was fast, and Dirk was fast, but Dave had the advantage of familiarity.

He was familiar with his own roof, and he was familiar with Dirk's moves and patterns, having more then ten years of practice fighting against him, while Dirk only had a few spare weekends of strifing against himself.

The other Strider made the first lunge again, looking for the element of surprise, but he'd already pulled that card, and it was a simple dodge, a sidestep that turned into a heel hook. Dirk jumped, avoiding the kick, but wasn't able to get away quick enough to fully avoid the uppercut Dave threw as he closed in on him, too close for either sword to be used efficiently.

Too close for the headbutt Dirk delivered to be effective, but it had the desired effect of putting some distance between them, Dave sliding back on the shingles.

"Hey! Be careful!"

Dirk's head turned, brows raised in surprise as he glanced down, seeing John yelling up at them, voice so obviously tinged with concern it made him hesitate. Dave's head turned, and he saw purple on John's jaw, already bruised, blood on his elbow, staining his coat, ignoring Rose as she attempted to usher him inside, and it fueled him into movement.

A quick snap of his wrist, and the broad side of his sword smacked against Dirk's hand, numbing it even as it caused it to go limp, dropping his katana with a clatter, sliding off the roof the thump mutely onto the ground below. Another turn, and the blade was held underneath Dirk's chin, making sure Dave had his complete attention.

"He had it coming." Dirk stood still, resolute, unconcerned about the sharp steel biting against his skin. "You know he did. He hurt me and mine. Two directly." He lowered his head, pushing more against the blade in a way Dave knew had to be painful, but allowed his shades to fall a little down his nose, just enough for those bright, tawny eyes to zero in on him.

Dave fought a wince, and had to take a deep breath before he responded, lowering his sword. He knew Dirk took it personally when Jane was left alone, knew that just that alone, one of his dearest friends being left to fend for herself, scared, would have brought down his fury. Dave didn't exactly put out the flames when he'd isolated himself for months afterward, leaving Dirk alone to deal with the aftermath of Jake and Roxy having to deal with Jade and Rose.

"I'm not going to say you aren't justified to feel that way. But Egbert is _mine_ , and no fucking one is going to touch him in any way, shape, or form without his extremely clear consent, and not even then if it's done in violence. And if you ever hit what's mine again, I'll cut your goddamn hand off, ecto-family ties or not."

Dirk reached up with the hand he had feeling in, pushing his shades back up the bridge of his nose calmly.

"Seemed a hell of a lot to me like he was giving consent, Dave, whether you wanted him to or not."

"Totally irrelevant. What I said stands, and that's all there is to say on the matter, bro."

He hoped so, at least. God, please let that be irrelevant, just a one time deal, just John allowing the single comeuppance that he felt was coming his way, because Dave wasn't sure he could handle the guilt if it was anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always up for some prompts, especially of the Beta Kids variety, so feel free to hit me up on indulgingfiction.tumblr.com
> 
> ((Wow, misspelled tumblr, I am so sorry, thanks for pointing that out, Darling! Also, as a sidenote, I do read all of your comments, I just get kind of flustered that anybody actually enjoys reading this enough to read and comment in the first place, so I don't tend to write responses because it'd just be me making an emotional fool of myself and blubbering all over the place while trying to sound like the adult I'm actually supposed to be. So just imagine all of our pretty little Beta's blowing kisses at you when you leave a comment, because it's better then anything I could respond with, my loves!))


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